Parsimony
by Queerasil
Summary: The Law of Parsimony states that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. But there's nothing simple about Sherlock Holmes. Turns out, there's nothing simple about John Watson either. (Also known as, "Starts out as fluff but eventually disintegrates into smut and other delightful things of a semi-naughty nature")
1. Chapter 1

***Note: Everything is sort of pretty much the same except everything gets way naughtier after TGG. Includes eventual dark!john and lots and lots of dirty things. Enjoy. **

The Law of Parsimony states that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one.

But there's nothing simple about Sherlock Holmes.

Turns out, there's nothing simple about John Watson either.

When John first sets eyes on Sherlock Holmes, he has no idea what he's in for. The instant he meets the strange man's eyes, he forgets all about his pain and Afghanistan and focuses solely on him. John's never been so engrossed in anyone before and he knows he'll fall in love like that again.

When Sherlock first sets eyes on John, he He forgets about the screaming needle marks on his arms the instant John smiles at him.

And soon they're off solving cases together like they're old friends.

John breaks all the rules. He is the exception, the loophole, the anomaly, the irregularity, the deviation. John throws a Molotov cocktail at Sherlock's cold, calculated, wall of logic and Sherlock worships him for it.

Sherlock decides to test him. He acts ruder than usual on purpose, and he invades John's personal space, and he brings up all the deep, dark history from John's past that he had so neatly locked away.

And John doesn't leave. (Correction: He can't leave. The magnetic pull of Sherlock is too strong, and John feels like a fly caught in a web, or a planet orbiting a sun.)

They go to the restaurant and John casually tosses out the neon sign that screams "NOT GAY". Sherlock's smile fall and he casually reminds himself why he doesn't fall in love.

And then John kills someone for Sherlock.

A sickening knot begins to twist in Sherlock's stomach as he realizes he's falling in love again, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. (He's not the spider weaving the web; he's the fly caught in it.)

Later (after the case is solved and they return to Baker Street, full of Chinese food), Sherlock goes into his room and silently examines his last needle full of cocaine.

He almost picks it up. Almost. But then he realizes he's got a new drug of choice: John Watson.

And wow, is he addicted.

Sherlock rarely eats, but when he does, John Watson is always sitting in the front row, watching his glorious, cupid bow lips move and imagining all the other things his tongue could be doing at that moment.

_Oral fixation_, he believes it's called (if he remembers high school psychology correctly). But that's wrong, because it's not a _fixation_. It's a _fascination_.

In reality, all of Sherlock is fascinating. But some parts (certain sensitive parts), are much more enamoring than others.

John can't help but watch the buttons on Sherlock's shirt, because they always look like they're about to pop off. John wonders how he can move with such grace in those impossibly tight clothes. (He almost wonders how Sherlock would move without all those tight clothes on...)

Once, after a long and particularly grueling case, Sherlock looks a little ill, and so John - being a good doctor - decides to take his friend's pulse.

"129!" John screams as Sherlock yanks his wrist away from John's grip. "One-hundred-and-twenty-bloody-nine!"

"You probably miscounted," Sherlock mumbles, as he turns to look somewhere, anywhere, but not at John.

John is almost lost for words. Almost. "Why's your pulse so high?"

Sherlock mumbles something incoherent and John is forced to come to a dangerous conclusion.

John grabs Sherlock's scarf before he has the chance to run away and stares right into the detective's eyes.

Pupils dilated, breathing erratic, elevated heart beat, skin flushed.

John comes to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it's entirely the wrong one.

"Drugs?" John asks, ready to call Lestrade or Mycroft or whoever the hell he's supposed to call in a situation like this one.

"In a sense, yes." Sherlock turns and stalks back towards his room. He locks the door behind him as John stands shocked in the hall.

John sits outside his room all night, just in case. All he hears is the the quiet melody of violin playing an unknown piece of music.

(The piece is called 'John'.)

The first touch is accidental.

It's been a long case, and as they climb victoriously into the back of a cab, Sherlock's hand accidentally brushes against John's.

Sherlock is overwhelmed. His senses teem with electric perceptions. (_softsmoothwarmcomforthappylovesweetnicepleasant_.)

(Sherlock blames the whole thing on sleep deprivation. John doesn't even notice.)

From them on, touch becomes a casual thing with them. John will occasionally pat Sherlock on the back, and he doesn't think anything of it. Sherlock - on the other hand - craves those little moments of intimacy. His mind buckles and reels at the idea of John touching him.

John doesn't notice when Sherlock starts standing closer to him than usual. Sherlock even starts doing little things for him, like opening doors, and paying the bills, and - even once - disastrously attempting to make tea.

They hug once. Sherlock's mind explodes and he stands, frozen, unable to do anything except replay the glorious embrace over and over again in his mind.

Sherlock is married to his work, but he's considering an affair (or perhaps even a divorce).


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock misses small things.

(John lives for small things.)

Sherlock misses the way John smiles at particularly gruesome crime scenes when he thinks no one is looking, and the satisfied twinkle in John's eyes whenever he 'accidentally' hurts someone. Sherlock misses how John is completely oblivious to pain, unless it's being inflicted on him (in which case John has to remind himself that real people do, in fact, feel pain).

Sherlock is completely, blissfully oblivious to the fact that the times John goes missing for hours on end just happen to coincidentally line up perfectly with especially violent crimes.

Sherlock misses how completely fixated John is on. How completely and utterly obsessed the small, meager looking man is with the egotistical detective.

In short, Sherlock misses everything important, because if he was paying attention (and he wasn't too busy falling slowly in love with John), then he would've noticed long ago that his beloved blogger was a complete and utter psychopath.

You'd never guess that John is a psychopath.

(Even the great Sherlock Holmes couldn't figure it out - how could you?)

To the ordinary eye, John looks like nothing more than a simple, slightly chubby, adorable man with a kindly disposition and a ridiculous flatmate.

(Sherlock is - in this respect - tediously ordinary.)

John has even the great Sherlock Holmes fooled. He couldn't be happier, watching that fabulous man dance around his (or should he say, "Moriarty's" crimes).

Jim is very good at his job.

(Moriarty. _The Art of Death_. How appropriate and obvious. It's a fortunate miracle Sherlock doesn't put it together in time.)

Moriarty promises to burn the heart out of Sherlock Holmes. John Watson is Sherlock Holmes' heart. John Watson is Moriarty. It couldn't be more perfect.

John is very possessive.

Sometimes - when they're out in public or interviewing someone for a case - John wants to hoard Sherlock like a precious treasure. John wants to own Sherlock. (But to possess him is not enough, oh no, John needs to be him.)

When women look at Sherlock that way, John invites them out on a date and treats them with the delicate respect they deserve. When men look at Sherlock in that way, John usually finds a clever and quiet way to dispose of them.

He almost has Molly killed. _Almost_. Instead, he has Jim play with her a bit; string her along and trick her into falling in love with him. It makes the reveal so much sweeter.

Sherlock's face at the pool is priceless.

(John imagines his frantic brain trying to put everything together, scrambling to figure out what he missed.)

It gives John infinite pleasure to think that Sherlock knew - for a few seconds, at least - who John rearly was.

And the next second Jim steps into the spotlight and Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief and John feels empty again.

"_No one gets to me... And no one ever wil_l."

(Those words couldn't be more true.)

John is very good at being John. But he's even better at being Moriarty.


	3. Chapter 3

*Note: This takes place after 'the Pool Incident'.

After the pool, John goes out for drinks at The Fox with 'a friend', leaving Sherlock to sulk on the couch, waiting for John's return.

John can't help but smirk as he straightens the cuffs on his Westwood suit. He's had to act so damned depressed every since the pool, and he's finally ready to have some fun.

For now, Jim is Richard Brook, just a devoted actor and lifelong friend. John is still John. (John Moriarty.)

John figures it's a bit suspicious, having a big hulking man like Sebastian Moran hovering around them like a hungry vulture the entire night. (He knows the only reason Sebastian is so good at his job is because he's head-over-rifle in love with Richard.)

Because Sebastian is so good at his job, he insists on testing every single drink they order for poison, which effectively turns their night of freedom and loose passion into a something of a cheap sitcom.

John dances with Richard. Their bodies fit together like well-greased pieces of a clock that keeps perfect time. The music may be awful, and the lights obnoxious, but all that matters right now are the smooth, gracious curves of Richard's perfect hips.

John can play Richard like an instrument. He's catalogued every touch, and he knows the reaction for each and every thinkable stimuli. There is nothing new added to their routine. Only variations of things they've done before.

(It's starting to get tedious, boring, dull, predictable. John longs to change up the game, to add something new and sexy.)

John can't help notice the way Richard looks at Sebastian. How Richard's tired, hollow eyes trace the immaculate lines of Sebastian's strong chin. John recognizes that look. It's the way John looks at Sherlock.

(John notices everything. That is his destiny. That is his purpose. That is his curse.)

John takes it upon himself to remind Richard that he owns him.


	4. Chapter 4

*Note: Minor-ish character death.

John borrows Sebastian's gun. (Not the big, unsexy rifle. John borrows the small and elegant antique handgun Richard bought Sebastian for his 32 birthday. It's a token of Richard and Sebastian's mutual affection for each other, and John intends to annihilate it.)

John blindfolds both Richard and Sebastian and orders them to kneel in front of him. Richard obeys, like a good pet, and Sebastian follows along uneasily.

John points the gun at Richard's face. In barely a whisper, he speaks. "I have a gun pointed at one of your faces. There are six chambers in this gun, five are empty, and one - as you might guess - is full."

John pauses to let the full gravity of his words sink in. Sebastian hides a grimace and Richard can barely contain his fear.

"So the question is, my pets... How much do you trust me?"

John pulls the trigger.

Richard squirms and flinches for the bullet that will never hit him.

It's just a game. It's always a game.

John laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.

John points the gun at Sebastian and gives him the same ultimatum.

John pulls the trigger and watches as the bullet tears through the soft flesh of Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian dies. Richard cries. John laughs and laughs and laughs.

For the first time in weeks, John feels relief.

John and Sherlock are called in to investigate the crime later that night.

John watches, mesmerized, as Sherlock pours his eyes over the body that John put there. Sherlock is fascinated, bewildered, and almost joyful for the distraction Sebastian's corpse provides.

Sherlock runs his gloved hand along the military tattoo on Sebastian's shoulder. John shudders internally at the thought that he too once touched the same spot so passionately.

"Military..." Sherlock mumbled to himself before his eyes fix on John. For a brief, glorious moment, John feels a delicious combination of arousal and fright.

It fades when Sherlock asks him if he knows what the military symbol might mean.

John keeps Sebastian's gun. It's a twisted brand of sentiment, but John loves it. Sometimes, at odd hours at night, when John can't sleep, he takes the gun out and puts it in his mouth and thinks hard about pulling the trigger.

But then he remembers he owes Sherlock a fall.


	5. Chapter 5

*Note: Slight change to ASiB in regards Adlock. I just happen to covet Adlock.

Irene changes everything.

He remembers the incredibly specific directions he gave her regarding Sherlock. ('Don't touch him. He's mine. Play with him all you want, but. He. Is. Mine.')

She ignores him.

She strings Sherlock hopelessly along until he has no choice but to fall into bed with her.

John watches the whole thing on his laptop from his comfortable chair in the living room via the security camera he's secretly installed in Sherlock's room.

The whole affair is not nearly as sexy as John initially imagined, but he can't be too picky.

Irene - in true dominatrix fashion - takes the lead and guides Sherlock to the bed. Sherlock follows like a puppy, and John knows that he will probably follow her every command.

She ties Sherlock's arms together at he top of the bed with his famous blue scarf and strips him down to absolutely nothing.

Irene does absolutely nothing to John. Truly, he's never been very interested in women that way. On the other hand, the sight of Sherlock, helpless, stark naked, and tied to a bed is nearly enough to send John sprinting towards the bedroom.

Irene starts off slow. She treats Sherlock like a beginner, and frankly, John can think of so many more, creative things that he would do that man (if he could).

Irene teases Sherlock. She grabs him hard and brings him to the brink and stops right before he's about to come.

Worst of all, Sherlock begs (more than twice).

John hears the whimpers and the cries and the thuds and tries to imagine that he's in there instead of Irene.

Finally, she takes them both over the edge. Sherlock comes and Irene collapses on top of him and John can't help but feels a pang of jealously knowing he can't make Sherlock feel like that (yet. He's determined to make Sherlock work for it - really work for it - first.)

John takes it upon himself to remind Irene that he is the only one who can make Sherlock beg. He has her beheaded in Karachi and that's the end of that.

Except Sherlock saves her.

John's devotion to the detective falters for a moment.

(His devotion is only revived when sees Irene's body laid out before him, covered in needle marks, cuts, and finally, a fatal bullet hole to the back of the head.)

Sherlock is John's again. They sit closer together than they used to, exchange more frequent touches, spend more time together. But there's a hollowness in Sherlock hat wasn't there before; there's something missing in him.

John vows to make Sherlock whole again by any means necessary. Even if it means shattering the world around them to find the perfect piece to fit the detective.


	6. Chapter 6

*Note: Day of the tower heist in TRF.

Sherlock proposes an experiment. John goes along as his willing test subject.

They kiss, and it feels like the world is exploding and the universe is falling off it's axis and everything in infinity is contracting into one, perfect sensation.

They next thing they know, John has Sherlock pinned to the wall with one hand while the other glides down to the detective's crotch.

Sherlock certainly wasn't expecting this today. John has bee imagining this moment for years, ever since little Carl Powers took his final swim and John found out about the brilliant boy detective.

John pushes Sherlock into the bedroom and slams the door behind them. He pushes Sherlock down onto the bed and straddles him.

John has Sherlock completely in his power. Good thing, too, because Sherlock has no idea what to do.

In between feverish kisses, Sherlock tries to explain his perceptions of lovemaking. "The way I understand it..." Sherlock's factual tirade is silenced when John bites down hard on his lower lip, silencing the detective for a few glorious seconds.

"Shut up," John mumbles gruffly as he trails kisses down Sherlock's neck to his collarbone. Sherlock moans with pleasure as John fulfills his long-awaited desire to pop the buttons off Sherlock's shirt with his teeth; planting kiss on the detective's hairless chest as he goes.

Sherlock squirms under John as he gets closer to his belt buckle. Sherlock eagerly pulls John lips back up to his own as John tangles his fingers in Sherlock's curly hair.

The kiss is strong, rough, merciless; just like John.

"John..." Sherlock is trying to be romantic, taking his time kissing every corner of John's body.

John grunts as Sherlock pulls of his jumper and tosses it carelessly at the wall.

John hears his phone buzz from an incoming text, but he doesn't answer it, because he knows what it is.

{INCOMING TEXT 9:26} Tower Hill. Come and play. JM.

John tops (of course). Sherlock bottoms (surprisingly).

John Moriarty is having a fan-fucking-tastic day.


	7. Chapter 7

*Note: In which the scientific method is very sexy.

Afterwards, when the room's stopped spinning, and sounds of passion have quieted into a tranquil silence, they talk.

Sherlock has collapsed on top of John's chest, and situated his head neatly on his blogger's heart, peacefully listening to the calm and steady beat.

John hasn't felt his own heart beat in years.

"So..." John nips at Sherlock's earlobe, which triggers a moan from both men. "Was your experiment a success, or..."

Sherlock's eyes flutter open, and he struggles to find his way out of the translucent, orgasmic haze he's lost in. His cool, grey eyes move up to meet John's green and he says in a voice so sexy that John thinks he might explode, "Need more data," before he resumes senselessly snogging John.

They experiment all night.

Irene's nickname for Sherlock no longer applies. Both of them couldn't be happier.

Sherlock creates a special room - no, not a room. A temple - in his mind palace where he stores the experience. There's a shrine for John Watson, and Sherlock intends to worship him every chance he gets.

Sherlock makes a list of everything John likes:

(He does it very scientifically. Trial and error. Testing theories, hypothesis, and never, ever jumping to conclusions.)

1.) Subject prefers topping over bottoming but is open to persuasion if motivated.

2.) Subject enjoys being called 'Captain' and 'Master'.

3.) Subject enjoys referring to partner as 'Pet' and 'Mine'.

4.) Subject enjoys it when experimenter plays with his tongue.

5.) Anything with hair. Subject likes ANYTHING with hair.

6.) Subject enjoys biting, light bruising, and other modes of torturous pleasure.

7.) Subject wears red pants.

Sherlock would thing John's strange, newfound tendency to lead everything if he wasn't too busy being distracted by the wonderful new variety of things a John can do with his mouth.

John never realized science could be so sexy.

Later, when Sherlock is exhausted and has slipped into a deep, blissful, dreamless sleep, John picks up his phone and makes the call.

There's no turning back now. But all John wants to do is replay the last night over and over in his mind for eternity.

'I owe you a fall, but I'm fallin' for you.'


End file.
